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Stories from SlateHow Bourbon Became “America’s Native Spirit”http://www.slate.com/articles/life/drink/2015/05/bourbon_empire_lewis_rosenstiel_and_how_bourbon_became_america_s_native.html
<p><em>This essay is adapted from </em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0670016837/?tag=slatmaga-20">Bourbon Empire: The Past and Future of America's Whiskey</a>, <em>published by Viking.</em></p>
<p>In 1964, a piece of legislation declaring bourbon “a distinctive product of the United States” surfaced in Congress. Some lawmakers questioned giving special recognition to this humble, blue-collar drink, and their reluctance was easy to understand: Distilling was one of the most corrupt industries in American history. Congress had recently investigated the industry for links to organized crime, and the U.S. Justice Department had targeted a group of companies known as the “Big Four,” which had grown to control nearly three-quarters of the liquor trade, for monopolistic business practices.</p>
<p>Nevertheless, most congressmen came to see the resolution as an innocuous piece of paperwork. It didn’t seek to enshrine bourbon as a symbol of American values; it simply aimed to designate it as a product that can only be made in the U.S., giving it trade protection against foreign competitors (like the French do for champagne and cognac, and Mexico for tequila). Staffers on the Interstate and Foreign Commerce Committee, responsible for shepherding the legislation through Congress, even came to see it as a bit of a joke, assigning it to a handler who didn’t know anything about the liquor trade but was named August Bourbon—his clever bosses couldn’t resist the coincidence. The resolution passed, made a quick blip on the back pages of a few newspapers, and was quickly forgotten.</p>
<p>Despite its inauspicious beginnings, that little piece of legislation is now rather famous, partly due to bourbon’s renewed popularity in recent years. <a href="http://www.jimbeam.com/about-bourbon/bourbon-ingredients">Whiskey marketers</a> and <a href="http://drinks.seriouseats.com/2007/09/bourbons-back.html">food writers</a> love to remind readers that Congress, in all its awesome authority, has declared bourbon a unique part of America’s heritage—giving Congress credit for a much fonder attitude toward bourbon than was ever actually the case. Eventually, the myth was converted into reality simply because it had been repeated enough times. By 2007, when Kentucky Sen. Jim Bunning sponsored <a href="https://www.govtrack.us/congress/bills/110/sres294/text">a bill to declare September “National Bourbon Heritage Month,”</a> the legislation he introduced to Congress not only misquoted the original from 1964—swapping the dry legalese of “a distinctive product of the United States” with the punchier “America’s Native Spirit”—it also added sentimental language connecting the spirit to a loftier set of ideals than the original ever intended: “family heritage, tradition, and deep-rooted legacy.”</p>
<p>The real story behind the how bourbon became “America’s native spirit” is far less romantic. Bourbon’s roots <em>are</em> uniquely American—but primarily in the sense that it was cutthroat capitalism that earned the spirit its modern reputation.</p>
<p>The true driving force behind the 1964 resolution wasn’t sentiment or patriotism, but an unrelenting businessman named Lewis Rosenstiel, who was head of one of the world’s biggest liquor companies at the time: Schenley Distillers Corporation. (It has since been absorbed into the machinery of today’s liquor conglomerates.) Today, Rosenstiel’s name is largely forgotten by an industry that has worked hard to rehabilitate its image. Brands are named after frontier icons or adorable old men you might want to adopt as your grandpa, not people like Rosenstiel, who was indicted on bootlegging charges during Prohibition and later linked to gangsters like Meyer Lansky. His rise to power included the cultivation of interesting and useful relationships with the likes of FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover and staffers who worked for Senator Joseph McCarthy. When he died in 1976, his obituary in the<em> New York Times</em> declared him “the most powerful figure in the distilled spirits industry,” but couldn’t resist also remembering him as “a domineering man with a quick temper.”</p>
<p>Even though Rosenstiel isn’t part of the approved narrative of bourbon’s marketing departments, he deserves much of the credit for its 1964 coronation as an American original. More than a decade earlier, Rosenstiel had mistakenly evaluated that the Korean War would cause whiskey shortages like those America had suffered during World War II. To prepare, his distilleries ran full blast, pushing total stocks of American whiskey past 637 million gallons, enough to supply national demand for nearly eight years. After the war ended without the shortages Rosenstiel had anticipated, his surplus gave him control of roughly two-thirds of all the nation’s older whiskey stocks, according to his competitors. (The accounting is fuzzy, but probably referred to all whiskey older than five years.)</p>
<p>This was a disaster from a business perspective, causing the <em>Times</em> to run the headline “Whisky Industry Is Facing a Crisis.” Even though Americans were drinking plenty of whiskey, demand was dwarfed by supply. Federal law at the time required distillers to pay taxes on whiskey after aging eight years, at which point it had to be sold or destroyed. If Rosenstiel were forced to sell to a market with weak demand, he might have to do so at a loss, causing others to slash prices to compete and shuttering large portions of the industry in the fallout.</p>
<p>Rosenstiel looked for help from his counterparts from other companies within the Distilled Spirits Institute, the industry’s main lobbying group. He wanted tax changes allowing him to age his whiskey longer and give him time to sell his surplus. Such a rule change would have been good for the entire industry, but the other liquor chieftains balked. They were trying to block Rosenstiel’s next move: positioning his older bourbon as a luxury good to capitalize on markets created by the booming postwar economy. Sidney Frank, Schenley’s vice president and Rosenstiel’s son in law, had told reporters about the strategy, and the other DSI members wanted temporary provisions preventing Rosenstiel from advertising his older products until they had a chance to catch up.</p>
<p>The other liquor titans were attempting to undo their competitor, but Rosenstiel was not easily defeated. He quickly outflanked his DSI adversaries by forming an alternative lobbying group called the Bourbon Institute. Working swiftly, the Institute successfully lobbied for passage of the 1958 Forand Act, which made whiskey taxes due at 20 years instead of eight, buying Rosenstiel precious time. In the long run, it would also give distillers more flexibility to create some of today’s most noteworthy brands, although the competitive advantage it gave to Schenley, underwritten by the government, temporarily stoked “the fury of the three other big distilling companies,” the<em> Economist </em>reported at the time.</p>
<p>The Forand Act in place, Rosenstiel looked for other ways to sell his bourbon surplus. Overseas markets beckoned, and the Bourbon Institute began its work on the resolution to declare bourbon a “distinctive product of the United States” and protect it from foreign competition (indeed, one of the resolution’s opponents was a New York politician representing two Manhattan heiresses earning royalties from “bourbon” imported from a Mexican distillery). As the Bourbon Institute laid its groundwork, Rosenstiel poured $35 million into a global advertising campaign and sent promotional cases of bourbon to U.S. embassies around the world. His competitors in the other three big distilling companies, by this point burdened with their own surpluses and waning domestic demand, followed his lead. (By 1973, DSI, the Bourbon Institute, and another trade group would merge to form DISCUS, the industry’s main lobbying arm today).</p>
<p>In May 1964, the resolution passed, and Rosenstiel retired several years later as one of the richest men in the country. Eventually, the legislation he had guided with his invisible hand would be reimagined as the sort of heartwarming tale of craft and heritage the industry generally prefers. But like all American history that gets reshot with a softer focus and better-looking cast, the real backstory of how bourbon became designated as an American original is a little more complicated. It doesn’t feature Basil Hayden, Evan Williams or any of the other marketable frontiersmen who would later inspire famous brands. Instead, it stars Lewis Rosenstiel, a man who prowled around his office in the Empire State Building sporting the kind of amber-tinted eyewear you might associate with old-school bookies working Atlantic City. His image has never made it onto a bottle of bourbon, even though his business savvy was responsible for selling an awful lot of the stuff.</p>
<p><em>Copyright 2015 by Reid Mitenbuler. Adapted from </em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0670016837/?tag=slatmaga-20">Bourbon Empire: The Past and Future of America's Whiskey</a><em>, published by Viking. Reprinted with permission.</em></p>Tue, 12 May 2015 14:00:00 GMThttp://www.slate.com/articles/life/drink/2015/05/bourbon_empire_lewis_rosenstiel_and_how_bourbon_became_america_s_native.htmlReid Mitenbuler2015-05-12T14:00:00ZForget small-batch producers carrying on family traditions. Cutthroat capitalism is what made bourbon “a distinctive product of the United States.”LifeHow Did Bourbon Become “America’s Native Spirit”? Cutthroat Capitalism.100150512004spiritsliquorhistoryexcerptsReid MitenbulerDrinkhttp://www.slate.com/articles/life/drink/2015/05/bourbon_empire_lewis_rosenstiel_and_how_bourbon_became_america_s_native.htmlfalsefalsefalseHow did bourbon become “America’s Native Spirit”? Cutthroat capitalism.How Did Bourbon Become “America’s Native Spirit”? Cutthroat Capitalism.Photo illustration by Slate. Photo by Antonio Muñoz Palomares/ThinkstockWhiskey marketers love to remind readers that Congress, in all its awesome authority, has declared bourbon a unique part of America’s heritage—giving Congress credit for a much fonder attitude toward bourbon than was ever actually the case.Pass the Courvoisierhttp://www.slate.com/articles/life/drink/2013/12/cognac_in_african_american_culture_the_long_history_of_black_consumption.html
<p>Cognac is almost as much a French clich&eacute; as stinky cheese and horizontally striped shirts. French labeling regulations play a role in perpetuating the spirit’s image: Production is limited to a specific region (Cognac, located in southwestern France), which helps define its <em>terroir </em>and protects its inherent French-ness. And cognac producers often play up their national character, festooning their labels with the <em>fleur de lis </em>and channeling French icons like <a href="http://www.louisxiii-cognac.com/">Louis XIII</a> and <a href="http://courvoisier.com/us/our-collection/?=6#6">Napoleon</a>. (The museum at Courvoisier’s headquarters, which I visited in September during a trip organized by an industry trade group, actually displays a lock of Napoleon Bonaparte’s hair.)</p>
<p>However, cognac’s <em>r&eacute;putation fran&ccedil;aise</em> belies a split personality. The French don’t touch cognac. Instead, they export more than 97 percent of it, according to the tourist board of Poitou-Charentes, the administrative region where Cognac is located. The U.S. is the biggest single customer, with African-Americans accounting for a large majority of those sales.</p>
<p>The story of cognac’s rise in the U.S. is familiar to aficionados: During the 1990s, cognac sales were slow, and the industry was battling an image populated by fusty geriatrics. Then references to cognac began surfacing in rap lyrics, a phenomenon that peaked in 2001 with Busta Rhymes and P. Diddy’s hit “Pass the Courvoisier,” causing sales of the brand to jump 30 percent. During the next five years, other rappers teamed up with brands, and increased overall sales of cognac in the U.S. by a similar percentage, according to the Distilled Spirits Council of the United States.</p>
<p>But <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vimZj8HW0Kg">don’t call it a comeback</a>. Americans had been drinking cognac for almost two centuries before it started showing up in rap lyrics. Old export records from both the Chateau de Cognac and Martell show deliveries of cognac to the U.S. during the 19th century, where its refined smoothness was a favorite drink of the upper class and a welcome refuge from the noxious, unaged spirits gushing out of the frontier. American distilling manuals from the early 19th century recommended ways Americans could mimic cognac, a spirit they considered the peak of the distiller’s art.</p>
<p>Cognac’s relationship with African-American consumers started later, when black soldiers stationed in southwest France were introduced to it during both world wars. The connection between cognac producers and black consumers was likely bolstered by the arrival of black artists and musicians like Josephine Baker, who filled Paris clubs with jazz and blues during the interwar years, according to Dr. Emory Tolbert, a history professor at Howard University. France appreciated these distinctive art forms before the U.S. did, continuing a French tradition dating back to Alexis de Tocqueville of understanding aspects of American culture better than Americans did. For African-Americans, the elegant cognac of a country that celebrated their culture instead of marginalizing it must have tasted sweet. Back in the states, the more common option was whiskey, a spirit made by companies that named brands after Confederate leaders or appealed to southern nationalism with labels such as <a href="http://rebelyellbourbon.com">Rebel Yell</a>. It’s no wonder many African-Americans found that cognac left a better taste in their mouths.</p>
<p>In the postwar period, the American market became even more important to cognac producers. That’s when scotch entered French markets and muscled aside cognac, according to Patrice Pinet, Courvoisier’s master blender. “Today, France drinks as much scotch as the amount of cognac it produces,” he said. To make up for that loss, marketing to an American demographic with a taste for cognac was a no-brainer, and the first spirit ads in both <a href="http://www.ebony.com/life/hennessy--blacks-straight-up#axzz2hGJ17efg"><em>Ebony</em> and <em>Jet</em></a> magazines, published in the early 1950s, were launched by Hennessy. Since then, the four main cognac houses—Courvoisier, Hennessy, Martell, and R&eacute;my Martin—have all studied the U.S. market scrupulously and tailored their products appropriately. For instance, when Courvoisier discovered that American women were buying cognac and Moscato wine separately in liquor stores and then mixing them, it helped them skip a step by creating Gold, a brand that premixed the two.</p>
<p>It’s easy to view this kind of strategic marketing skeptically, as little more than the shrewd maneuvering typical of the cutthroat world of luxury branding. That’s certainly a big part of the equation. I’ve tried a number of exclusive cognacs costing in the range of $3,000 per bottle—they’re good, but those prices are hardly just for the liquid in the bottle. What you’re usually paying for is the bottle itself, which is probably a decanter cut from <a href="http://www.blouinartinfo.com/news/story/906036/remy-martin-launches-limited-edition-louis-xiii-rare-cask-426">Baccarat crystal</a>. As if that’s not enough, it might even arrive inside a box glittering with <a href="http://www.luxuriousmagazine.com/2013/06/luxurious-beverage-of-the-month-lessence-de-courvoisier/">LED lighting</a>, giving the impression that you’re raiding the Lost Ark of booze. As Bertrand Guinoiseau, brand development manager for Martell, told me, buying cognac is an opportunity to “show off.”</p>
<p>But this type of ostentation, tiresome as it often is, can also convey an appealing swagger. When <a href="http://blogs.wsj.com/speakeasy/2013/03/02/is-this-cognac-worthy-of-jay-z/">Jay Z drank D’USS&Eacute; Cognac straight from a trophy he took home from this year’s Grammy awards</a>, it was a performance by an artist playing with the palette of mashups and appropriations his genre affords him. Beneath the surface of stereotypes comprising cognac’s public face—the snooty Frenchman, the blinged out rapper—runs a more sophisticated undercurrent. Cognac producers get this and tend toward a “live and let live” approach to how their spirit is used. Whether you drink it neat, with ice, in a cocktail, or dumped into a Grammy trophy, they’re quick to condone your approach. For a product with a split personality, that’s probably a good strategy. It’s also a lesson they’ve learned from champagne producers, whose famously snooty opinions about how their product should be stored, served, and consumed are a turn-off. In 2006, Fr&eacute;d&eacute;ric Rouzard, president of Champagne Louis Roederer, maker of Cristal, famously miffed the hip-hop stars that had been promoting the brand for free by snubbing their patronage. Jay Z and others called for a boycott.</p>
<p>Cognac producers, on the other hand, have embraced the outside world their sales rely on. R&eacute;my Martin sells its growing number of Chinese customers cognac in an eight-sided bottle, which is a lucky number in the culture. Louis Royer makes kosher cognac exclusively for the New York market. This fall, in the town of Cognac, Hennessy is sponsoring an exhibit by the photographer <a href="http://www.jonathanmannion.com">Jonathan Mannion</a>, whose portraits of hip-hop stars best capture in single, clean shots the vibes of a uniquely American genre that has driven their sales and arguably become global pop culture’s lingua franca. And Martell has helped sponsor an annual <a href="http://bluespassions.com/?lang=en">American Blues festival</a> that has run yearly in the town of Cognac for the past two decades, attracting close to 30,000 (mostly European) visitors each year. One hallway of Martell’s headquarters even features an exhibit by the American artist <a href="http://mcconnelldickersonart.com/blues-lifecast">Sharon McConnell</a> featuring the plaster facemasks of obscure American blues musicians all but forgotten in their own country. It’s a fitting tribute to the fact that, labeling regulations aside, cognac has never been strictly French.</p>Wed, 04 Dec 2013 04:45:00 GMThttp://www.slate.com/articles/life/drink/2013/12/cognac_in_african_american_culture_the_long_history_of_black_consumption.htmlReid Mitenbuler2013-12-04T04:45:00ZThe decades-long love affair between French cognac producers and African-American consumers.LifeAfrican-Americans Have Been Drinking Cognac for a Lot Longer Than You Think100131203013Francehip-hopdrinkReid MitenbulerDrinkhttp://www.slate.com/articles/life/drink/2013/12/cognac_in_african_american_culture_the_long_history_of_black_consumption.htmlfalsefalsefalseAfrican-Americans have been drinking cognac for a lot longer than you think. @reidmitenbuler explains.African-Americans Have Been Drinking Cognac for a Lot Longer Than You ThinkPhoto by Regis Duvignau/ReutersAmericans had been drinking cognac for almost two centuries before it started showing up in rap lyrics.You’re Doing It Wrong: Barbecued Chickenhttp://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2013/10/02/barbecued_chicken_recipe_grill_chicken_needs_a_wet_brine_mostly_low_heat.html
<p>It’s the most disappointing taste of summer. You’re at a backyard cookout and the host offers you a piece of barbecue chicken. You get excited, only to find the first bite sitting in your mouth like the charred ashes of a dream about chicken you once had. The second bite is a stringy, chicken-flavored rubber band.</p>
<p>Of course, many of you already know that, even though it’s lacquered in barbecue sauce, this isn’t really barbecued chicken—it’s <em>grilled </em>chicken, cooked quickly over direct heat. Barbecuing means going low and slow with more smoke. The fix is easy—less heat, more time, brine the meat, and save your sauce for near the end. The result will prevent your guests from wondering if their tears can be used to return needed moisture to a dry plate of what could have been.</p>
<p>So why all the great, timely cooking advice for a season that just ended? Truth is, summer isn’t the best for barbecuing. Standing over a grill in July is a horribly sweaty affair. Autumn is the best time to barbecue: The warm grill in cool air offering a rare second chance to capture one of the pleasures of a summer that probably went by too fast.</p>
<p>Just don’t squander the opportunity by marinating chicken in sauce, then throwing it onto a roaring-hot grill for 15-20 minutes. This will burn rather than caramelize the sugars in the sauce. Plus, most barbecue sauces contain vinegar or other acidic ingredients that begin cooking your meat early, effectively drying it out. Instead, brine your chicken, soaking it in a saltwater solution a couple of hours before cooking. The salt breaks down muscle fibers, allowing the meat to absorb moisture but also preventing the fibers from contracting quite so much under heat, thus releasing that moisture.</p>
<p>And remember that barbecuing in America is a sacred topic marked by spirited debates. Brining is one of them. Wet brining is described above; “dry brining” is an alternative by which the meat is simply rubbed with salt and maybe some spices. The high priests of food science that occupy the Internet and cooking shows can never seem to agree on what option works best. More Zen-like members of the group, such as Alton Brown, <a href="http://m.npr.org/story/165039668">waver back and forth on brining technique</a>. He holds two opposing ideas in his mind at once, yet miraculously retains the ability to function.</p>
<p>Both methods work fine, but I go with wet brining because it’s given me slightly better results. If I go to foodie hell for my beliefs, I only hope that I can find a quiet corner where the coals aren’t too hot. Because low heat isn’t a debatable issue.</p>
<p>Only at the very beginning do you use high heat, to sear the skin side for a few minutes. Then you cool things down, either by banking the coals to one side or turning down the burner. Close the lid and give each side about 25-30 minutes, keeping the heat in the range of 300-325 degrees. After that, begin painting on the sauce, brushing and turning for another 20-25 minutes, not letting the sauce burn, but rather caramelize into a gooey lacquer with the texture of a fruit roll-up. After about 75 minutes, and once the internal temperature reaches 165 degrees, it’s ready.</p>
<p><strong>Barbecued Chicken<br /> </strong>Yield: 4 to 6 servings<br /> Time: 3 to 4 hours, mostly unattended</p>
<p>⅓ cup salt, plus more for seasoning<br /> 2 tablespoons sugar<br /> One 4 to 5 pound chicken, butchered into 8 pieces<br /> Black pepper<br /> 2 cups barbecue sauce</p>
<p>1. Dissolve the salt and sugar in 5 cups water in a large bowl and add the chicken to it. If needed, add water to cover the chicken, and let it sit for 2 to 3 hours in the refrigerator.</p>
<p>2. Heat a charcoal or gas grill, keeping part of the grill cool for indirect grilling. Remove the chicken from the brine, pat dry, and season with salt and pepper. Put the chicken pieces skin side down on the hot part of the grill and cook until lightly browned, 3 to 5 minutes. Transfer the chicken to the cool side of the grill, close the lid, and cook for 50 to 60 minutes, turning once.</p>
<p>3. Uncover the grill. Gradually brush the chicken with the barbecue sauce as you continue to cook it, turning occasionally, until a meat thermometer inserted into the thickest part of one of the pieces reads 165&deg;F, 20 to 25 minutes. Serve hot, warm, or at room temperature. (Store leftover barbecued chicken wrapped in foil in the fridge for up to a few days.)</p>
<p><strong>Previously in <a href="http://www.slate.com/topics/y/you_re_doing_it_wrong.html">You’re Doing It Wrong</a>:<br /> </strong><a href="http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2013/08/28/barbecue_sauce_with_smoked_paprika_a_not_too_sweet_kansas_city_style_recipe.html">Barbecue Sauce</a><br /> <a href="http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2013/07/03/potato_salad_without_mayonnaise_an_improved_version_of_the_fourth_of_july.html">Potato Salad</a><br /> <a href="http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2013/04/03/no_7_s_fried_broccoli_recipe_with_black_bean_hummus_one_of_chef_tyler_kord.html">Broccoli</a><br /> <a href="http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2013/04/24/stir_frying_basics_three_essential_rules_plus_a_recipe_for_stir_fried_tofu.html">Stir-Fry</a><br /> <a href="http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2013/07/11/fried_green_tomatoes_recipe_with_breadcrumbs_some_red_tomatoes_work_too.html">Fried Green Tomatoes</a><br /> <a href="http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2013/02/27/soy_glazed_carrots_recipe_why_adding_tamari_or_shoyu_instead_of_honey_or.html">Carrots</a><br /> <a href="http://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2012/11/28/raw_kale_salad_recipe_a_miso_lemon_dressing_helps_the_raw_greens_shine.html">Kale</a></p>Wed, 02 Oct 2013 15:27:18 GMThttp://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2013/10/02/barbecued_chicken_recipe_grill_chicken_needs_a_wet_brine_mostly_low_heat.htmlReid Mitenbuler2013-10-02T15:27:18ZArtsFall Is the Perfect Time for Barbecued Chicken. But You’re Probably Doing It Wrong.205131002002You're Doing It Wrongyou’re doing it wrongReid MitenbulerBrow BeatBrow Beathttp://www.slate.com/blogs/browbeat/2013/10/02/barbecued_chicken_recipe_grill_chicken_needs_a_wet_brine_mostly_low_heat.htmlfalsefalsefalseFall Is the Perfect Time for Barbecued Chicken. But You’re Probably Doing It Wrong.Fall Is the Perfect Time for Barbecued Chicken. But You’re Probably Doing It Wrong.Lauren CondoluciFall is the perfect time to make barbecued chicken.Craft Whiskey Isn’t Necessarily Betterhttp://www.slate.com/articles/life/drink/2013/06/craft_whiskey_vs_jim_beam_smaller_distilleries_aren_t_necessarily_better.html
<p>Most foodies reflexively reach for artisanal versions of their favorite foods. We hold the truth that “small is best” to be self-evident, and vow to eat craft rather than Kraft. The bread, cheese, pickles, and jam we buy from small-batch producers at the farmers market and carry home in NPR totes are worth the cost to us: After all, they usually taste better than their commercial counterparts.</p>
<p>In America’s evolving whiskey landscape, however, smaller isn’t necessarily better. Some excellent craft whiskies have emerged in recent years, but the distilleries responsible for big names like Wild Turkey, Jim Beam, and Four Roses make whiskeys that a surprisingly high number of microdistilleries struggle to match.</p>
<p>This fact flies in the face of our instinct to support the little guy, particularly when he’s your new neighbor and has assumed a huge financial risk to pursue the dream of making whiskey. Just a decade ago, almost every brand of American whiskey—primarily bourbon, rye, and Tennessee whiskey—was made by a handful of companies located in Kentucky and other Southern states. In the last few years, however, the number of distilleries has <a href="http://recenteats.blogspot.com/p/the-complete-list-of-american-whiskey.html">mushroomed to more than 200</a>, spread throughout the country, as new producers attempt to capitalize on whiskey’s rising popularity. Sales of American whiskey have increased by more than 13 percent during the last five years, according to the Distilled Spirits Council of the United States (which sponsored a recent tour of both big and small distilleries that I attended). Sales of pricier, high-end products, the kind most emerging craft bands are marketing, increased by more than double that rate.</p>
<p>Many of these new distilleries have capitalized on the locavore movement, utilizing terms like “organic,” “local,” “small,” and the ambiguous “craft,” to appeal to the kind of upwardly mobile buyers who are driving sales. The upstarts are entering a crowded market for a product that traditionally takes years to age, meaning long learning curves and delayed revenue. The odds are even more stacked against them than they were for emerging microbreweries in the 1980s and 1990s.</p>
<p>Like their brewing brethren, a few successful microdistilleries will eventually stand triumphant on a battlefield littered with secondhand equipment for sale. In order to survive in the meantime, many microdistilleries are either marking up the price of whiskey purchased from big distilleries or attempting to abridge the long and expensive aging process with techniques that have yielded some very mixed results.</p>
<p>Some consumers might be unaware of ways that small outfits are blurring the definition of “craft.” As microdistilleries build their facilities or wait for their stocks to age, many purchase whiskey from established companies and resell it. These suppliers include <a href="http://www.heavenhill.com/home">Heaven Hill</a> in Bardstown, Ky., which produces many of its own brands and is best known for Evan Williams bourbon, and <a href="http://www.mgpingredients.com">MGP Ingredients</a>, which owns the former Seagram Company distillery in Lawrenceburg, Ind. Both companies supply small and large labels alike. Craft brands can either put their own labels on whiskey they purchase from bulk producers and mark up the price, or enhance the flavor of sourced whiskey by aging it further, sometimes in <a href="http://www.winemag.com/Wine-Enthusiast-Magazine/March-2011/Spirits-in-Wine-Barrels/">old wine barrels</a> for more complexity. In an industry where many brands pride themselves on tradition and advertise long family heritages with <a href="http://www.beamglobal.com/brands/old-grand-dad">pictures of old men who look like Civil War generals</a>, it’s no surprise that many distilleries downplay this practice. (Others create the appearance of being older than they really are by purchasing and reviving long-dormant trademarks.) MGP’s bland corporate website doesn’t list the brands it supplies, although it does provide <a href="http://www.mgpingredients.com/product-list/Bourbon-45-Wheat.html">basic</a> <a href="http://www.mgpingredients.com/product-list/Bourbon-36-Rye.html">recipes</a> for the types of spirits its makes. Enterprising drinkers with time on their hands can sometimes use these recipes to sleuth out the origin of their whiskey, if a brand lists its grain composition on its bottles or website. Another tactic is simply to look for town names like Lawrenceburg, Ind., or Bardstown on the label for additional clues. And some companies readily admit on their labels to blending different sourced spirits.</p>
<p>Does sourcing whiskey from other suppliers really matter, as long as it tastes good? Craft brands like the Michter’s labels, Belle Meade Bourbon, and Smooth Ambler’s Old Scout are all sourced from other distilleries while the companies build their facilities or age their own stocks, and all are balanced and flavorful products. High West Distillery, another craft outfit, even won an award at the 2010 American Distilling Institute’s Best Craft American Whiskey competition with a whiskey it originally sourced before its homemade product was ready for market.</p>
<p>David Pickerell, an industry legend who used to be the master distiller for Maker’s Mark and now consults with many upstart distilleries, reminded me that sourcing whiskey is itself a tradition going back to the 19th century. Many established and respected brands, including Maker’s Mark in the 1950s, bought whiskey from larger distilleries while they got their footing. (Maker's Mark never sold sourced whiskey under the Maker's label, though.) “It’s what’s in the bottle that counts,” Pickerell noted. One taste of Hillrock Estate Solera-Aged bourbon, a whiskey that he sourced but then aged using <a href="http://www.winemakermag.com/stories/wizard/article/138-can-you-explain-the-solera-system-of-aging-your-wine">a method commonly used to age wine but not whiskey</a>, nicely supported his argument. Regardless, whiskey sourced from big distilleries probably doesn’t fit most drinkers’ concept of “craft.”</p>
<p>What about microdistilleries that actually make their own products? Some, such as Nashville’s <a href="http://www.corsairartisan.com/index.html">Corsair Distillery</a>, have attracted well-deserved attention by experimenting with techniques and flavors avoided by their bigger counterparts. Sometimes these attempts fail, but when they succeed, the results can be exceptional. Corsair’s Quinoa Whiskey has bitter notes that I find disagreeable, but the distillery’s Triple Smoke, which employs smoke flavors from three different types of wood, is flavorful, nuanced, and unique. In the tradition-bound whiskey world, Triple Smoke and many of Corsair’s other experimental projects are the equivalent of Bob Dylan playing an electric guitar at the Newport Folk Festival: a little unsettling to purists whose tastes and expectations are already established, but appealingly innovative to others.</p>
<p>Conversations about craft distilleries, however, get a little uncomfortable when they turn to more traditional categories of whiskey such as bourbon, which established producers already do very well. As Pickerell told me, “You can’t out-Maker’s-Mark Maker’s Mark.” Even the most basic offerings from many big distilleries—brands like Buffalo Trace, Jim Beam Black, and Wild Turkey 101—are excellent products that I find more complex than many craft products that are much more expensive. Higher-end products from these same big distilleries—Eagle Rare Single Barrel, Knob Creek, and Russell’s Reserve—are very hard to compete with, especially at the prices they charge.</p>
<p>Established distilleries’ biggest advantage over small competitors is that they can afford more of an essential ingredient needed to make good whiskey: time. Four years is generally considered a minimum for decent bourbon. Jimmy Russell, master distiller at Wild Turkey, even considers four- to five-year-old bourbon “a little green.” For whiskey startups operating on shoestring budgets, four years is an eternity to wait before earning revenue. Many have attempted to dodge this obstacle by <a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/life/drink/2013/03/white_dog_whiskey_could_jack_daniel_s_unaged_tennessee_rye_and_jim_beam.html">selling younger whiskies</a> or attempting to quickly extract wood flavors by using <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B006X9UD2W/ref=as_li_ss_til?tag=slatmaga-20&amp;camp=0&amp;creative=0&amp;linkCode=as4&amp;creativeASIN=B006X9UD2W&amp;adid=0NNF0GB59PRR3B2HPFXH&amp;">smaller barrels</a>, <a href="http://www.straightbourbon.com/forums/archive/index.php/t-10883.html">wood chips</a>, <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/howaboutthat/3115492/Ultrasound-machine-turns-cheap-plonk-into-fine-wine-in-30-minutes-says-inventor.html">ultrasound machines</a>, <a href="http://ibmag.com/Main/Archive/2013_Manny_Awards_Cleveland_Whiskey_12353.aspx">pressure cookers</a>, and even by <a href="http://www.timesunion.com/living/article/Feel-the-Spirits-An-Ulster-County-distillery-644165.php">playing loud bass music</a> to agitate the whiskey. Upstart distilleries say these techniques do for their whiskeys in a matter of months what otherwise takes years.</p>
<p>These kinds of claims immediately raise red flags. Whiskeys made with these new techniques aren’t always quite as bad as <a href="http://dramgoodtime.com/2013/04/22/cleveland-whiskey-black-bourbon-review-batch-001/?utm_source=buffer&amp;utm_medium=twitter&amp;utm_campaign=Buffer:%20@arok%20on%20twitter&amp;buffer_share=e0c43">some whiskey reviewers claim</a>, but to many palates (including my own) they usually lack the depth found in whiskeys aged in large barrels for years at a time. Aware of these limitations, some microdistillery owners have told me they plan to eventually transition to tried-and-true methods used by their established counterparts once they can afford it.</p>
<p>Big distilleries, for their part, are eyeing the competition: Woodford Reserve, Buffalo Trace, and Jim Beam have all experimented with some of these alternative aging techniques but thus far have not used them in a large-scale way. Chris Morris, the master distiller at Woodford Reserve, is open to trying new things, and he’s embraced a few relatively <a href="http://www.drinkspirits.com/bourbon/scenes-woodford-reserve/">untraditional techniques</a> to produce his whiskeys, such as triple-distilling and heating its aging warehouses—but he’s avoided the eccentric practices used by upstarts. Morris presides over a product line of well-regarded whiskeys and seems confident that he won’t be bested by newcomers anytime soon. “We’ve done it all,” he told me. “We know what works and what doesn’t work.”</p>
<p>Brands like Jim Beam sometimes fail to capitalize on their taste advantages, and they don’t help themselves with the foodie market when they do things like team up with Hardee’s to offer the “Jim Beam Bourbon Thickburger.” Brand recognition like that hardly appeals to people reading <a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/life/books/2013/05/michael_pollan_s_cooked_reviewed.html">Michael Pollan’s latest book</a>. But as Jimmy Russell reminded me, many well-known distilleries originally started out as craft operations, eventually merging under larger corporate umbrellas but still operating fairly independently.</p>
<p>This isn’t just folksy marketingspeak. Unlike their counterparts in, say, <a href="http://www.slate.com/articles/news_and_politics/food/2013/06/shuanghui_s_smithfield_takeover_what_the_planned_buyout_means_for_american.html">the meatpacking industry</a>, established distilleries’ standards and techniques haven’t changed much as they’ve scaled up to increase output. The equipment they rely on still comes from small companies like Vendome Copper and Brass Works in Louisville, Ky., which builds the majority of stills in America for both large and small distilleries. Yes, the juggernauts may produce millions of gallons of booze per year, but they’re using old recipes and techniques that are proven to work. It’s a patient enterprise, in which whiskey is made from a few basic ingredients, then left to age for years in wooden barrels stored in rustic rack houses that dot the rural Kentucky and Tennessee countryside. Labels and size aside, it’s a process that seems very “craft.”</p>
<p><strong><em>Slate</em></strong><em>’s coverage of food systems is made possible in part by the </em><a href="http://www.wkkf.org/"><em>W.K. Kellogg Foundation</em></a><em>.</em></p>
<p><em><strong>Update, June 27, 2013:</strong> This article has been updated to clarify that while Maker’s Mark bought whiskey from larger distilleries, they sold it under separate labels rather than their own name. </em></p>Mon, 24 Jun 2013 09:45:00 GMThttp://www.slate.com/articles/life/drink/2013/06/craft_whiskey_vs_jim_beam_smaller_distilleries_aren_t_necessarily_better.htmlReid Mitenbuler2013-06-24T09:45:00ZBig distilleries like Jim Beam make a mighty fine product. (Also, “craft” doesn’t mean what you think.)LifeJim Beam and Wild Turkey Are Better Than Most “Craft” Whiskeys100130624004whiskeyamerican food economyliquorbourbonwhiskeyamerican food economyliquorbourbonReid MitenbulerDrinkhttp://www.slate.com/articles/life/drink/2013/06/craft_whiskey_vs_jim_beam_smaller_distilleries_aren_t_necessarily_better.htmlfalsefalsefalseJim Beam and Wild Turkey Are Better Than Most “Craft” WhiskeysJim Beam and Wild Turkey Are Better Than Most “Craft” WhiskeysPhoto by ThinkstockChoose your poisonPutting the White Dog to Sleephttp://www.slate.com/articles/life/drink/2013/03/white_dog_whiskey_could_jack_daniel_s_unaged_tennessee_rye_and_jim_beam.html
<p>Most serious whiskey fans seem content to let the white whiskey fad of recent years slip into oblivion alongside Crystal Pepsi and New York Seltzer. The term <em>white whiskey</em> is basically a marketing name for what distillers call <em>white dog</em>, referring to grain-based spirits that haven’t been aged in wood to improve their flavor. When sold illegally, it’s just called moonshine, but legal sales of white dog in recent years have helped upstart microdistilleries earn immediate revenue while their whiskies age. That’s because white dog can be bottled and sold immediately after being distilled without accruing any additional storage and aging expenses. The moonshine connection has been a useful marketing gimmick for hip urban bars, but there’s one considerable downside to white dog: It tastes horrible.</p>
<p>Regardless, distilling giants Jack Daniel’s and Jim Beam are joining the bandwagon. Daniel’s recently released its <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00B5X12QM/ref=as_li_ss_til?tag=slatmaga-20&amp;camp=0&amp;creative=0&amp;linkCode=as4&amp;creativeASIN=B00B5X12QM&amp;adid=0TNG6MNHQCXVV3VV3MFN&amp;">Unaged Tennessee Rye</a>, and Beam started selling a minimally aged spirit called <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BASOQ8S/ref=as_li_ss_til?tag=slatmaga-20&amp;camp=0&amp;creative=0&amp;linkCode=as4&amp;creativeASIN=B00BASOQ8S&amp;adid=13FS3YDVAAWPX736V1PW&amp;">Jacob’s Ghost</a> last month. Some whiskey industry watchers fear the new products threaten the livelihood of young microdistilleries that survive off white whiskey sales. Others, such as Charles K. Cowdery, author of <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/0975870300/ref=as_li_ss_til?tag=slatmaga-20&amp;camp=0&amp;creative=0&amp;linkCode=as4&amp;creativeASIN=0975870300&amp;adid=177AV1EBHB3JDYZJA67Z&amp;"><em>Bourbon, Straight</em></a><em> </em>and <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/0975870319/ref=as_li_ss_til?tag=slatmaga-20&amp;camp=0&amp;creative=0&amp;linkCode=as4&amp;creativeASIN=0975870319&amp;adid=036YJ2Q7K7N05N4SAT6G&amp;"><em>The Best Bourbon You’ll Never Taste</em></a><em>, </em>are holding their judgment to see if the new products will help small producers by legitimizing a style many whiskey connoisseurs roll their eyes at. Whatever the outcome, the distilling giants’ new products epitomize the reasons many whiskey drinkers find white whiskey so annoying.</p>
<p>My bourbon-appreciating father once artfully compared drinking white whiskey to getting stabbed in the mouth with a screwdriver that’s been used to pry open a gas can. Of course, some will disagree with that colorful assessment. Taste is subjective, and sometimes it takes a lot of work to learn the subtle charms of challenging subjects. Many blogs and spirits columnists have flattered white dog, describing it as “<a href="http://articles.chicagotribune.com/2012-09-16/features/sc-food-0914-drink-corn-whiskey-20120916_1_corn-whiskey-sweet-corn-white-whiskey">bright</a>” or “<a href="http://www.forbes.com/sites/richardnalley/2012/09/10/white-whiskey-bottled-in-broad-daylight/2/">flamboyant</a>.”&nbsp; But the moonshiners who’ve made it for years simply call it “hooch.”</p>
<p>In fairness, the unaged spirits on the market now taste far better than the illegal kind. True moonshine typically comes from whatever cheap ingredients are available, which oftentimes means fermented sugar or rotten fruit. Shows like the Discovery Channel’s <em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B009ZQS94O/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&amp;camp=1789&amp;creative=390957&amp;creativeASIN=B009ZQS94O&amp;linkCode=as2&amp;tag=slatmaga-20">Moonshiners</a>—</em>think <em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1613771231/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&amp;camp=1789&amp;creative=390957&amp;creativeASIN=1613771231&amp;linkCode=as2&amp;tag=slatmaga-20">Li’l Abner</a></em> meets <em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B001DJLCRC/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&amp;camp=1789&amp;creative=390957&amp;creativeASIN=B001DJLCRC&amp;linkCode=as2&amp;tag=slatmaga-20">Breaking Bad</a></em>—are about an industry where illegal spirits come in reused soda bottles and are sold from back alleys. Legal distilleries, on the other hand, use high-quality grains to distill raw spirits with the potential to become bourbon or rye once they spend a few years mellowing in barrels and absorbing flavor from the wood. Without that final step, however, white dog is to whiskey what coal is to diamonds.</p>
<p>Speaking of diamonds, many whiskey drinkers complain that white whiskies are too expensive—the clear spirits trade on their hillbilly heritage, but only the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B001NRPQKI/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&amp;camp=1789&amp;creative=390957&amp;creativeASIN=B001NRPQKI&amp;linkCode=as2&amp;tag=slatmaga-20">Beverly Hillbillies</a><em> </em>can afford them. Some 750-milliliter bottles cost more than $30, which doesn’t make much sense: It takes capital to age bourbon or rye in barrels that sit in a warehouse for years, but it takes very little money to funnel white dog into bottles. “It’s bullshit,” says Bill Thomas, owner of Washington, D.C.’s Jack Rose Dining Saloon, which has one of the largest whiskey selections in the country. Thomas is an advocate for any new spirit, including white dog, but asserts “there’s no reason it should cost more than $9.99 a bottle.”</p>
<p>Then again, distilleries obviously don’t charge what a product is worth; they charge what people will pay. Smaller economies of scale mean microdistilleries might have to charge more than giants like Beam or Daniel’s, but novelty and status also play big parts. Vodka is a perfect example of this: The difference between a $20 bottle and a $50 bottle is often just $30 and an advertising campaign featuring a celebrity. (Vodka is usually distilled at a much higher proof than white dog, so it has a more neutral flavor; vodka is also different from white dog in that it’s not always made from grains.) Pricing for gin, which is basically vodka flavored with aromatics such as juniper, can also be arbitrary. Vodka and gin go for chic, however, while white dog goes for folksy.</p>
<p>Beam and Daniel’s follow suit by charging more for less. A 750-milliliter bottle of Daniel’s unaged rye costs $50, which is more than its Single Barrel Whiskey costs. Jacob’s Ghost costs $22, which is $6 more than Beam’s famous white-label brand. Jacob’s Ghost is made exactly like white label but is aged for one year instead of four. Regardless of their relatively high prices, Unaged Tennessee Rye and Jacob’s Ghost still cost less than some of their microdistilled competitors. With their giant budgets, Beam and Daniel’s can afford to saturate the market and give those who are curious about white whiskey a chance to see how it tastes (and then probably never buy it again).</p>
<p>So why was white dog so popular when it first arrived in bars a few years ago? Many whiskey drinkers were simply curious about how whiskey tastes before it enters the barrel. Joe Riley, fine spirits manager at Washington, D.C., spirits distributor Ace Beverage, said that white whiskey sold well when it first came out, but he has reduced his selection because it doesn’t get a lot of repeat buyers. “They don’t know what to do with it,” he said. Bill Thomas from Jack Rose Dining Saloon said he used to offer tasting flights of white dog for the curious, but demand quickly fell off.</p>
<p>The initial hype around white whiskey was also exacerbated by the resurrection of cocktail culture, which has created an intense demand for new products. Most of the people I spoke with thought white whiskey’s chances of survival depend on that cocktail revival. But while there’s nothing wrong with nostalgic craft cocktail bars taking their decorating tips from speakeasies, the truth is that many of those older cocktails were invented to mask the horrible taste of illegal moonshine.</p>
<p>This irony was noted by Derek Brown, co-owner of two bars in Washington, D.C., while he defended white whiskey’s place in today’s cocktail scene. Brown invited me to Columbia Room—which is to bars as the French Laundry is to restaurants—where he and the staff proved his point with white whiskey versions of a Manhattan and a sour. Each drink used citrus to complement and transform flavors that I normally find disagreeable. The experience felt a little like Thomas Keller making me the best meal I’d ever eaten out of frozen vegetables and Spam.</p>
<p>Still, Brown and his staff are masters—some might even call them alchemists. White whiskey’s survival seems bleak if it depends on the occasional curiosity of whiskey geeks or home mixologists matching the prowess of places like Columbia Room. Combined with the looming threat of Daniel’s and Beam devouring the market, young distillers relying on it for their livelihood could easily find themselves out of work.</p>
<p>That would be a shame. Those microdistilleries represent a big part of an American whiskey renaissance that promises to do for whiskey what small brewers did for beer 20 years ago. Many microdistilleries have shown a willingness to break from tradition and take risks their more established counterparts generally avoid, like experimenting with different ingredients or aging whiskey in different types of casks. In order to survive while building their brands, however, microdistilleries might want to take some lessons from the moonshiners and bootleggers that many of them base their advertising campaigns around.</p>
<p>During Prohibition, gin was popular because it was more tolerable-tasting than moonshine and didn’t require aging. Like white dog, gin is distilled from grains, but it passes through botanicals like juniper berries, coriander, and cardamom to absorb appealing flavors. Making gin has been the strategy of a few smart upstarts such as Washington, D.C.’s New Columbia Distillers, which names its Green Hat Gin after the felt hat worn by a bootlegger named George Cassiday who supplied Capitol Hill during Prohibition. John Uselton, who runs the distillery with his father-in-law, said he’s had brisk sales of Green Hat Gin while developing a rye whiskey he plans to age for five years. That’s an eternity for such a young distiller—but drinking their gin while waiting for it is the perfect way to get the taste of white whiskey out of your mouth.</p>Fri, 08 Mar 2013 10:22:00 GMThttp://www.slate.com/articles/life/drink/2013/03/white_dog_whiskey_could_jack_daniel_s_unaged_tennessee_rye_and_jim_beam.htmlReid Mitenbuler2013-03-08T10:22:00ZUnaged whiskey helps young microdistilleries keep afloat. There’s just one problem: It tastes awful.LifeUnaged White Whiskey Is All the Rage. Too Bad It Tastes Horrible.100130308002drinkscocktailsdrinkscocktailsReid MitenbulerDrinkhttp://www.slate.com/articles/life/drink/2013/03/white_dog_whiskey_could_jack_daniel_s_unaged_tennessee_rye_and_jim_beam.htmlfalsefalsefalseUnaged White Whiskey Is All the Rage. Too Bad It Tastes Horrible.Unaged White Whiskey Is All the Rage. Too Bad It Tastes Horrible.Courtesy of Jim Beam and Jack Daniel'sJim Beam's Jacob's Ghost and Jack Daniel's Unaged Tennessee Rye